The More We Are Hurt
by tastewithouttalent
Summary: "The presence of another person makes Justin feel alive, like he can taste the air he breathes instead of just using it to exist." Justin lacks experience but has more than enough intent for himself and Giriko both. No plot.
1. Metal

Giriko is a pain to live with. He is obnoxious and messy and he *sprawls,* expands to fill Justin's apartment until the space seems far too small for one person, much less two. There is always a leg thrown over the back of the couch or an arm stretched over the entire countertop, cans on the coffee table and scuff marks on the walls, idly shredded newspaper on the floor, table, chair, dirty dishes in the sink and the sound of Giriko's voice keeping Justin awake at night.

Justin *loves* it.

The space that was so empty before, the apartment that held his body when he didn't have an assignment, feels like a home now. The presence of another person makes him feel alive, like he can taste the air he breathes instead of just using it to exist. He *does* things now, cleans or argues or stares instead of quietly existing; before he would sometimes spend hours sitting still, staring out the window or at the wall with little regard for what he was seeing. Now all his blood is moving all the time, racing under his skin and through his veins like Giriko is the motor Justin's clockwork needed to become an actual person instead of an automaton.

He spends days watching the other weapon, tracing the angle of his jawline or the curve of his shoulders or the twist of his wrist with his eyes. Giriko has three metal earring through his left earlobe, one through his right, and a flat inlay over the bridge of his nose; they are colored silver but probably steel in actual composition. His teeth are symmetrical and sharp-pointed, like every one is a canine, and his dark eyes are always shifting, bored after a few seconds of watching any given subject.

Giriko has gotten bored of Justin when the priest finally approaches. He watches the other weapon longer than most things, glaring at his eyes or staring at the hem of his robe, but he has collapsed back on the couch and is watching the TV, one hand playing with the chain around his neck while the other is tucked behind his head. Justin leans over the back of the couch, glances at the television for a moment before disregarding the show - a soap opera, he thinks - in favor of watching Giriko watch it. The other weapon's mouth is curved down into his usual frown, eyes flickering over the images on the screen. Justin fixes his eyes on the corner of Giriko's mouth, the dip of lip over teeth; he stares for several seconds, going on a minute, before the other weapon looks up sharply.

"What the fuck do you want?" he snaps, quick with habit. His eyes flicker down to Justin's jaw, shoulder, back to his eyes. Justin reaches out to lay his hand against the side of Giriko's face, holding the other weapon still; Giriko nearly jerks away from the contact, Justin can feel the muscles of his neck tighten, but keeps himself still and settles for glaring instead. He opens his mouth to say something else, almost certainly vulgar, and Justin closes the distance to match his lips to Giriko's.

The other weapon freezes. Justin can feel the tension under his hand, against Giriko's jaw and throat and lips. Justin is close enough that he would feel his eyelashes if the chainsaw blinked, would feel his breath if he breathed. He does neither.

Giriko tastes like rust and oil and Justin's heart shouldn't race like it does at the flavor permeating the air against his lips, but it does. He blinks, his eyes focus on the metal loop in front of his eyes, and when he slides his tongue past Giriko's lips he can feel the razor-edge of those impossibly sharp teeth. The chainsaw huffs an exhale at the touch of Justin's tongue against the roof of his mouth; for a moment Justin thinks he might bite down but he doesn't, just stays impossibly still, more still than the chainsaw has ever been that Justin has seen. Their lips catch together, stick for a moment when the priest pulls away. His mouth is full of the taste of Giriko, his tongue tingling with the pressure from those teeth. When he pulls his hand back his palm is hot with borrowed heat, his skin prickling with the sensation of stubble and the texture of unfamiliar skin.

Giriko stares at him, mouth still open, eyes wide and shocked as Justin has never seen him and stunningly silent for the first time. Justin smiles. The motion is strange, pulls at his face as it doesn't usually; he can feel his eyes turning up at the corners, like the curve of his smile is reaching his whole face.

When he unfolds, leans up and away from the couch, Giriko follows, sitting up as Justin retreats as if they are connected by invisible thread.

"You-" the other weapon starts. Justin waits for more but nothing is forthcoming, vulgarity or affection both absent. After a moment Giriko huffs an exhale, drops back down to the couch and turns away to face the television. The chainsaw doesn't move or speak until the episode is over. It is as quiet as Justin has seen him since they came back to Death City.


	2. Poison

Giriko's retaliation takes a few days. Justin expected something immediately following his initial approach, but after the chainsaw went utterly still and silent he gave up on any immediate response. Still, he's ready for *something.* When he comes in from another meeting in the Death Room and Giriko is waiting against the wall by the door, Justin's thoughts catch up before his heartrate does. He has a moment of clarity - *ah, this will be the follow-up* - as he shuts the door, and then he can't breathe and can't look at anything but Giriko's mouth.

"Hello," he says. His voice sounds very distant and very foreign, like he's listening to himself through headphones. "Did you need something?" That is formal, stilted and stiff like he sounds in the Death Room, but he can't remember how to relax and his hand is frozen on the handle of the door.

"Yeah," Giriko snaps. If Justin hadn't been listening to the grate of the chainsaw's voice instead of sleeping for a week, he wouldn't note the shake under the low sound. When he swallows Justin's eyes follow the movement of his throat and it takes him a moment to refocus on the chainsaw's mouth.

"Can't let a fucking *priest* one-up me," he mutters, and Justin is pretty sure he wasn't supposed to hear that but he doesn't have a chance to respond. Giriko steps in over the distance between them and Justin would back up if he had anywhere to go or were at all inclined to move away. As it is the chainsaw is in his personal space, breathing his air, and they are the same height, their eyes would be entirely level if Justin could look away from the other weapon's mouth.

Giriko grins, a slash of teeth under tight lips. "See something you like?" That is supposed to be teasing, clear with control, but it shakes at the end, Justin can see his throat tremble when he swallows again. The priest looks up from Giriko's mouth, drags his eyes up over cheekbones to brown eyes, and he doesn't quite follow the sound of his voice but he recognizes fear in the dark-dilated pupils.

Giriko brings his hands up on either side of Justin's head, slams them against the door. Justin is supposed to flinch. He doesn't, doesn't even blink. Giriko grimaces, a frown flickering over his mouth before he reigns in his reaction. He leans in, covering the distance until Justin can't see his mouth, and says something but it is too soft for the priest to hear and too close for him to see. Justin blinks and can't open his eyes, just sucks in air heavy with the burn of metal. Then he takes another breath, and another, and when the expected sensation of lips on his doesn't come he opens his eyes.

Giriko is staring at his cheek, breathing hard against his mouth and still as if he never expects to move again. Justin blinks and the other weapon's eyes flicker to his. This close he can see flecks of grey around the chainsaw's irises, darkening the pale brown to almost black, can see the fringe of eyelashes framing the color.

"Fuck," Giriko says, and it is so close that Justin can feel the harsh consonants against his tongue, and just as he breathes in deep to fill his lungs with metal the chainsaw crushes his lips against the priest's. Justin's lip catches on tooth, pulls painful before it comes free just short of tearing. He starts to smile, fights the motion back so he can tip his head to line up with Giriko's instead. He doesn't lift his hands from his sides, but the angle of his head brushes his hair against Giriko's thumb and he can't quite fight back the movement that drags the skin under his ear against the chainsaw's finger.

Giriko growls and the thumb lifts up, catches around Justin's ear so his fingers can dig into soft blond hair. The priest angles his head against the chainsaw's palm and Giriko's teeth are against his lips, catching sharp for a moment before he lets go and slides his tongue past Justin's lips. The priest lets his jaw go loose, drops the weight of his head against Giriko's palm, and the chainsaw's fingers are callused and his hand is far larger than Justin's own, fingers against his forehead while his palm lies against his chin, but Giriko's tongue is tracing the flat line of his teeth and Justin is making some unintentional sound back in his throat and the fingers in his hair are going tight, scraping fingernails over his scalp. Justin's hands are coming up without his intention, Giriko's hair is *soft* against his fingers, and his shoulders are coming off the door to press his body flush with the chainsaw's and Giriko is pulling back, breathing hard and fast against Justin's panting lips.

"Fuck fuck fuck," he is hissing, hard and fast into Justin's skin, and Justin has lost all sense of time and space outside of Giriko's fingers on his skin and Giriko's breath invading his and he would do anything right now if the other weapon asked it of him.

Giriko's hand slides down, grips his shoulder through his mantle, and Justin hits the door behind him so hard the air gusts from his lungs with the impact.

"*Fuck,*" the chainsaw enunciates, razor-sharp, and when Justin blinks his vision back into focus Giriko is looking at his throat instead of his eyes or his mouth, and his mouth is open and his breath is coming fast, and for a moment Justin doesn't care that he's never kissed anyone before Giriko, that he never expected to want or need anyone else, all he wants is to be less his clothes and under the chainsaw's body, his mouth tangled together with Giriko's until he forgets who is who.

"Okay," Giriko says, and he shoves back from the priest, drags the back of his hand over his mouth like Justin's lips were coated in poison. The priest's eyes follow the movement, stall when Giriko's hand does, and after a long moment he manages to look up and meet those grey-brown eyes.

Giriko swallows, drops his hand, and brings up his other to stab a finger in Justin's direction. "We're *even.* Understand? *Even.*"

Justin isn't sure what he does. He might nod, he might whimper, he might reach for Giriko. Whatever it is, Giriko hisses and turns away, bolts out of the hallway like Justin is trying to kill him, and Justin drops his weight back against the door and tries to catch his breath until his legs can support his own weight again.

* * *

A/N: There is one more chapter to this story but it cannot be posted here due to the rating restrictions; it can be found on my tumblr or my archiveofourown account (link on my profile).


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